


Rock Candy

by Princessfbi



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (2012), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Protective Family, Superfamily, slight PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:41:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princessfbi/pseuds/Princessfbi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That's great Uncle Bruce," Peter said in the same whispery way he always turned into. It was when he had lost all control and he was struggling for air but just couldn't seem to get it. Like the words that normally had trouble coming out but now they were free to fall from his mouth and he couldn't get a breath in. "That's just great. But I'm not someone special. I'm this teenage kid that likes science and taking pictures and can't even have a full conversation with a girl I really really like."</p>
<p>His throat was tightening and the burn behind his eyes was back trying to force bitter tears from his brown eyes.</p>
<p>"And I'm just that kid that cried for his papa and can't sleep without his dad's glowing artificial heart anymore." Bruce flinched inside as Peter's agonized gaze met his and he kept his face soft at the shame that leaked from his nephew. "I'm not."A humorless laugh left Peter's lips and he shook his head. "I'm not a hero like you. I'm not anyone special. I'm not special."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rock Candy

**Author's Note:**

> I own Nothing

The blaring sound of his alarm elicited a groan from the mound of blankets on the bed. From the pile a hand groped around slapping the offensive machine off as various appendages began to sneak out from the depths of the cocoon. Two socked feet - well one, the other was lost in the abyss- two hands and the top of a head that was adorned with wild brown hair poked out. It was from this giant blob of comfort and warmth that a teenager emerged. The sweet innocence of youth was masked by the still half asleep blanket the sixteen year old was wearing as he pulled his long form from the bed. Blindly the boy trudged through his room and into his adjacent bathroom. Bleary eyes cracked open as he blinked, his reflection in the mirror becoming sharper. He threw some cold water on his face, the crisp temperature making him alert, and with a yawn he no longer was a walking zombie but Peter Parker ready for another day.

He was up earlier than he normally was but he had a reason. His mind was on automatic as he went about his regular routine. Clothes, brushing his teeth, and a hand through his hair. He was silent as he moved about his room, filling his bag with various notebooks and grabbing his board and camera before he made his way out of the room as quickly as possible. The hallways were dark as the barest of light filtered through the windows, the sun not quite out yet. As he made his way into the living room the soft snores and various hums alerted Peter to the presence of the exact two he was hoping to avoid. One was lying on the couch thoroughly lost to the world, a worried frown marring his handsome young face that for a moment led Peter to believe he had been caught, and the other was from down in the workshop also equally lost to the world. A pang of guilt filled his gut and he bit his lip but he didn't stop, snaking a hand to grab at the package of fruit snacks at the counter, and escaped to the safety of the elevator.

He was sneaking out to go to school for God sake! There was no need for him to feel the guilt that still nagged at him but nonetheless it was there. He thought he had been home free -no pun intended though the irony was quite fitting- that was until the elevator had opened in the lobby to the almost too smug smirk of one Clint Barton.

Peter groaned rolling his eyes. "Are you serious?!"

" 'fraid so, kid," Clint said his hands balled into the pockets of his black jacket. He tossed Peter an apple who caught it and motioned him to follow with a tilt of his head. Peter clenched his jaw and followed obediently out onto the busy street of New York.

"You know you don't have to walk me to school. I'm sixteen!"

"Yes I do."

"No, you don't."

"Yes," Clint said giving Peter a knowing look. "I do."

"Whatever." Peter groaned sticking his thumbs through the holes of his sweatshirt and fisting his hands into his pocket in a similar fashion of Clint's.

"Look, Pete, I get it. I do," Clint said this all lightly in his way of making a guilt trip sound less like a guilt trip and more like an perpetual eventuality. "But you know how your Dad is. Especially after-"

But Peter didn't let him finished. "No, you don't. You don't get it. You really don't."

Clint looked like Peter had smacked him in the face and Peter felt horrible. Clint didn't deserve his bitter words to be thrown at him but before he could apologize the look was gone and Clint's face was blank, the expression light and indifferent.

"I don't want to talk about it. I just want to go to school. Please, let's just go to school." He looked at his uncle with a feign smile that Clint could easily see through, Peter's own trick. But if he didn't start walking again he'd go back home and be smothered for the rest of his life. "Everything's fine. Forget it. Let's just go. Please."

With a shrug he turned quickening his pace and crushing any further chance for conversation. The two walked in silence the rest of the way. When Midtown Science High School came into view, pools of teenagers roaming the grounds, Peter turned to give Clint a half wave. He quipped his lips to the side and looked at the archer imploringly for a sign of forgiveness.

Clint didn't say anything his brows raised before his smirk popped onto his face again. "Go on, kid. Go learn shit."

Peter didn't look back but he knew Clint would wait till he had entered the building, probably finding a vantage point to make sure he made it to his desk, but if he thought about that he'd become paranoid. With each step Peter began to feel the weariness fall off him and be replaced by the demand for normalcy. He had never felt so determined in his life. Any form of doubt was shoved deep into the darkest crevice of his mind that by the time he reached his school, he was feeling confident enough to fall back into the role of high school teen quite easily.

The world that was created strictly for high school students hadn't changed Peter realized and it didn't take him long to get back into the swing of things. Everyone walked around, laughing and talking like normal. High school was a jungle of interesting moments but it always remained consistent. The jocks were the jocks. The teachers were the teachers. The nerds were the nerds. He rolled down the hallway on his skateboard, wheels up when he was approached by the members of the faculty, and he still had to shoo away Becca and Ryan from having sex all over his locker. Melting into the masses was always easy for Peter, the quiet kid with the camera as many saw him. But she didn't see him like that and he couldn't help the smile from appearing on his face as Gwen stood beside him at his locker, her books clutched to her chest and blonde hair tied back in her signature bow.

"Hey," She said with a smile that made Peter blush from his neck.

"Hi." She was wearing a soft green sweater that made her eyes pop.

"Where were you last week?" She had noticed? Gwen Stacey had noticed he had been gone all last week. Peter could have jumped for joy but instead an embarrassing laugh left his lips that made the blonde giggle as well. He didn't think she noticed him at all or at least not in that way though they had talked a couple times before. They knew each other since the third grade. To enraptured at the prospect that she knew of his existence and even cared that he hadn't been in class, Peter didn't notice he hadn't answered her until she quirked a brow up.

"What…Oh um." Peter stumbled on his words with his thoughts racing too fast for him to even think about saying something. "I was sick. Yeah."

"Oh," Gwen said trying to hold in a laugh at his embarrassing bumble. "Well are you feeling better?"

"Yeah! Yes…Yes."

"Oh good."

"Totally better. So much better. Fine." Peter would have smacked himself but Gwen definitely would have thought that was weird so he refrained from his self loathing at his stupid response.  _Stop talking_ , he thought.

This time Gwen did laugh, her eyes crinkling in delight and for some reason it filled Peter with warmth, his nerves easing for a moment at the sound of her light laughter.

"Well, I'm glad you're feeling better."

"Than…Thank you." He squashed his lips together before smiling at her again. They were silent for a moment, staring at one another before Gwen let out a loud nervous laugh resembling so much his own from earlier that Peter joined her.

"Anyway…um…I have the notes if you want to ya know…"

"That'd be…yeah…great…"

"Great!" Gwen blinked her eyes rapidly, her hands white knuckled around her binder as she gave a small bounce by her knees. "When do you…"

"Whenever."

"Awesome," She said. Peter wondered how a conversation of one-word responses could be so exciting but it worked with him and Gwen in a way that would astound even the most brilliant mind. "Cool…well…Bye."

"Bye."

But Gwen didn't leave and she stood there for a beat before she remembered that Peter was actually at his own locker and then ducked her head down, her cheeks a soft pink, as she walked away. It was normal and relaxing and it made Peter wonder if maybe this would be when everything fell back into place.

A loud bang sent the teen jumping back throwing his hands to cover his face and the booming laughter of Flash and his friends clued Peter in on reality, cruelly dragging him from the cloud he had been floating on.

"Welcome back, Parker," the jock sneered chuckling at the slight dent his hand had made into the metal of Peter's locker door after he had slammed it shut. Peter rolled his eyes, balling his trembling fists into his pockets, before he headed to class. Yep, everything was normal again.

He had made it through most of his classes without incident. Calculus was simple enough to get back into and Chemistry had always been a strong suit for Peter that even with missing a week of school he was able to complete the assignment without a hitch. English on the other hand was another story. Literally. They had begun reading  _Never Let Me Go_ and no amount of pretending could Peter able to pull off to change the fact that he had already missed five chapters in the book. He spent the majority of fourth period, his free track, curled up in a window seat that faced the courtyard with his nose buried in Gwen's copy of the book and notes. He basked in the familiar solidarity solace that school brought in his crazy life. He had been craving for this for a week now, clawing to the surface of stress for everything to become boringly dull once again. It felt good. Even if it was only for a little while. Maybe if he pretended long enough it would be like last week never happened.

Gwen had made notes in the margin. Her handwriting quick but soft at the same time looping in words that made sense of the symbolism of the book. Peter ran his thumb over her marks, a smile on his lips.

When the words began to cross over one another, Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and pulled out his phone for a break. When he read the screen though Peter began to wish he hadn't.

_**Thirteen Messages** _

_**Twenty Seven Missed Calls** _

**Dad**

Where r u?

**Pop**

Call me when you can

**Dad**

? ? ?

**Pop**

We really need to talk bud

**Dad**

ANSWER YOUR PHONE

Peter groaned and stared at his phone seriously considering just throwing it into the fountain in the courtyard.

**Missed Calls**

Dad (22)

Pop (4)

Thor (1)

Choosing the least of the three evils, Peter pressed his phone to his ear setting aside his book and bracing himself against his knees. It only rang twice before a chaotic jumble of noise escaped through the speaker in his phone.

"Do not fret the young Iron Star has returned communication!"

People were giving Peter weird looks as the shouts from Thor blasted down the hallway and he ducked his head down in embarrassment.

"What is your whereabouts young friend?" Thor's voice lowered dramatically as he turned to the speaker but for human beings it was still incredibly loud and Peter had to hold the phone out slightly.

"Is that Peter?" Someone said in the background. Peter narrowed his eyes at the familiar voice.

"Put the phone on speaker," Peter said in a low tone and he only waited to hear the click before he hissed turning towards the window. "I am at school. Stop calling me!"

"Peter don't-" But he hung up cutting his dad off before he could begin.

It was safe to say that for the rest of the day, Peter was in a permanently sour mood. And it was only fourth period!

He had escaped to school for solace from his life but his family refused to let him be. Any sense of control he had accomplished at grasping over the past couple of hours was lost. He stomped into his seat in History dumping his stuff to the ground and holding his camera to his chest as he buried his head in his arms, his erratic thoughts drowning him once more until he fell into a restless sleep on his desk.

Lights were flashing that were burning hot on the skin but his bones were cold, so very cold. Someone was crying, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Peter."

A scream.

"Peter."

He couldn't breath.

"Peter!"

Peter startled awake, only just catching his camera from crashing to the ground. He blinked and turned to see Mr. Harris staring at him from behind his glasses. His expression was torn between disapproval and concern.

"Are you alright?"

"What," Peter asked. He looked around and the classroom was empty. That's right. School. He was at school.

"You fell asleep in class."

Peter rubbed a hand over his face and stood feeling unnerved by sitting down while Mr. Harris stood over him.

"I'm sorry, Mr…Mr. Harris. It won't happen again!" Peter tried to retreat. He didn't want to be there anymore, his nightmare was still too present in his mind for him to deal with it and Mr. Harris was still in complete oblivion.

"You never fall asleep in my class."

"What," Peter said with a hint of irritation creeping from his voice. Mr. Harris caught it and his frown deepened. Peter looked down rubbing a hand through his hair. "I uh… I'm just still not feeling well. I'm really sorry."

"Don't let it happen again." Mr. Harris nodded and Peter sighed in relief turning to leave.

The hallway was filled with students, lockers slamming, brown paper bags crinkling, girls giggling, boys guffawing. So much noise that sent Peter reeling. He was at school. Fifth period just ended. What…what….Lunch. He was supposed to go to lunch. Making his way to the courtyard where everyone ate he fiddled with his skateboard hanging from his backpack, a nervous habit he had picked up.

Gwen was reading a book. That was the first thing Peter noticed and he felt his pulse slow, his breathing evening out. Still, his food tasted like ash in his mouth and he abandoned it all together. He could do this, fall into his normal routine, but a skipped meal wasn't going to kill him. It was just a process and everything would go back to the way it used to be.

Instead, Peter took pictures. Mostly pictures of Gwen, which totally wasn't stalkerish at all, but also pictures of the skyscrapers in contrast to the high trees planted in the courtyard, students, and just about anything else that fancied his muse. It worked mostly. He got lost in his camera, his mind silent, the corner of his lips twitching upward again, and the itch in his fingers to get these new images uploaded onto his computer. His peace, however, was broken by the obnoxious laughter of Flash Thompson.

Ned Wilhem was hardcore geek. Not like Peter or Gwen, who were more discreet with their inner nerd, Ned was into the plaid button downs and rolled up jeans at the ankle. It didn't help either that the poor guy had glasses too large for his face and greasy hair that flaked off in dandruff. He was a nice guy and Peter had worked on a bioengineering project with him once in class. But none of that helped him lessen the target on his back for the school bullies, especially Flash. Flash, who was playing monkey in the middle with Ned's backpack was chuckling to his friends at Ned's fruitless attempts to reclaim the bag. As a crowd began to form Peter sighed and walked over.

"Hey, Parker," Flash said nonchalantly catching the bag and making a show of tossing it back. "Looking for magic for your pictures? Go ahead, I've got some real gold here!"

"Give him the bag back, Flash." People booed at Peter's attempts to end Ned's clear torment and it only seemed to egg Flash on. The jock ignored Peter, turning and tossing the bag over his shoulder. "Flash."

But Flash kept going. Peter set his jaw and he didn't need to look to know that no one else was going to help. So, before he could stop to think over it, Peter stepped in front of Flash. The bag already midair landed heavily in Peter's hands. Ned looked relieved as Peter handed him the bag with a small smile on his face. He was spun around only to meet a fist to his eye, the force sending him to the pavement. The crowd cheered at the fight and Flash kicked Peter in the stomach. It burned white-hot pain and Peter curled in on himself trying to grasp for air. None came and he could feel his lungs screaming at him to fill them with oxygen.

Screaming.

Hot lights that burned.

He gasped as air finally passed through his lips just in time to see Flash aiming his fist at Peter again. But the punch never came. Flash cried out and Peter groaned inwardly begging for it not to be true but knowing it was futile. Natasha gave another jerk to Flash's wrist making the teen drop to his knees. Peter rolled onto all fours, pausing only for a moment to take a deep breath, before twisting onto his feet.

Everyone stared at the alluring red head in astonishment as she pinned Flash with just a twist of his wrist. Looks of attraction and fear were mixed together but all Peter could feel was defeat. His place to escape and be himself was ruined. Natasha was looking at him concerned, tilting her head at his defeated expression, not aware that she had tainted the one place he could go.

"Let him go," Peter said his voice that low sigh of a tone. The crowd cleared as Peter turned heading for the exit in long strides with his head bowed. He didn't hear Natasha catch up with him but he knew she was there all the same.

"How'd you know?" He asked but he already knew the answer.

"Clint saw." Natasha looked at Peter imploringly, searching him for whatever was troubling him but she knew not to press. Her mouth pinched into a small line and she waited for him to notice that he had forgotten his camera that was now in her hands. He didn't.

As Peter stepped onto the street, Clint was standing there looking equally as troubled as Natasha but said nothing. Peter gave the archer a betrayed look that actually made Clint wince. Clint opened his mouth to say something but Peter just stormed down the street, his long legs carrying him through the crowd faster than Clint and Natasha. His family wasn't going to leave him alone at school then fine. He was going to be alone in his house for the rest of his life. Peter thought of this as he road up the elevator alone, having pressed the door closed button the amount of times it took to ensure that neither Clint nor Natasha could make it into small space with him. He didn't really want to talk to anyone and his frustration only grew with each floor the elevator took.

His pops though didn't seem to catch it. Steve looked up as the elevator opened with a small chime, his son stomping past him.

"Pete." Steve tried. But Peter didn't stop because if he did he would have seen the dark circles under Steve's eyes. "We need to talk."

"I don't want to talk right now."

"I know." Steve sighed running a hand through his hair. "But we have to at-"

"No we don't." Peter turned sharply on his heel to glare at Steve. "Leave me alone. Why can't you understand that? I can't even go to school without having two master assassins ready to kill the school bully. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to talk to Dad. I don't want to talk to Natasha. I don't want to talk anybody."

"Well that's just too bad kiddo because clearly you do." Tony leaned against the doorway to his workshop, oil covering his shirt and skin with caffeine making his hands shake.

"Screw you," Peter hissed to Tony. Damnit, he could feel the tears on his cheeks.

"Peter," Steve said, his tone tired and worn. But Peter didn't care. Shoving past Tony, Peter turned the corner and ran to his room before slamming it shut and locking the door. Peter pressed his hands to his eyes, reigning in his emotions long enough to hear his fathers' voices and the soft shuffle of his dad's feet coming to his door. Before his dad could knock Peter snuck through the vents, running away from the people who sought to give him comfort for something he didn't even want comfort from. He had been weak. He had been a disappointment. He was useless. Any sense of normalcy he had felt, any sense of control he had grasped at school was gone, and now he was stuck on the roof of Stark Tower isolating himself from people who didn't understand.

He wasn't stupid. Peter knew the only reason he hadn't seen the jet path of the Iron Man suit and an army of SHIELD agents was because JARVIS had informed his dad he was up here. Still, he knew it was a matter of time before someone dragged him back in to face the nightmares of what his life had become. It just hurt even more that it was Bruce, whose small footfalls were heavy with burden yet soft in caution, coming to do the job. Bruce was soft spoken with a wicked sense of humor that Peter had always found reassurance from whenever he needed someone to ground him back into reality. That though was the last thing Peter wanted at the moment.

"Mind if I sit down," Bruce asked his hand fiddling with his glasses. Peter didn't say anything. Setting his jaw he stretched from his sprawled out position only to fold in on himself. He rested his chin on his arms and didn't look at Bruce. The doctor dropped down looking at his feet. "How'd you get the black eye?"

"Guy at school," Peter murmured his voice muffled by the fabric of his sleeves. Bruce nodded and a pregnant pause filled the dead air. Though the silences between Peter and Bruce had always been a sense of home, both perfectly content to just be in the presence of one another, this silence was awkward and tense. Well, it was for Peter at least. It irritated him to see Bruce perfectly serene in his company while Peter felt the elephant in the room was physically smothering him. He didn't say anything though, to stubborn to give into his uncle's psychological mind games he was playing at, and instead just turned his head away from him to stare at the skyline.

"What do you want?" Bruce shrugged leaning his head to look up at the sky.

"Nothing," he said. "What do  _you_ want?"

"To be left alone." Peter was getting tired of saying it but when he said it he forced himself to sound as indifferent as he could muster as he bit at the skin around his thumbnail.

"Why?"

Peter shrugged this time, still refusing to look up. "What do you think?"

"Peter." Bruce chuckled a small smile forming on his lips. "I've never pretended to know what goes on in your head. I don't think I'm going to start now."

"You should tell that to the others," Peter said his eyebrows bouncing up before furrowing back down.

"Nah," Bruce said. "It gives them something to do. They worry about you. You're very special to them."

"That's great Uncle Bruce," Peter said in the same whispery way he always turned into. It was when he had lost all control and he was struggling for air but just couldn't seem to get it. Like the words that normally had trouble coming out but now they were free to fall from his mouth and he couldn't get a breath in. "That's just great. But I'm not someone special. I'm this teenage kid that likes science and taking pictures and can't even have a full conversation with a girl I really  _really_  like."

His throat was tightening and the burn behind his eyes was back trying to force bitter tears from his brown eyes.

"And I'm just that kid that cried for his papa and can't sleep without his dad's glowing artificial heart anymore." Bruce flinched inside as Peter's agonized gaze met his and he kept his face soft at the shame that leaked from his nephew. "I'm not."A humorless laugh left Peter's lips and he shook his head. "I'm not a hero like you. I'm not anyone special.  _I'm_  not special."

The other guy let out a low whine from inside Bruce and he had to let out a deep breath to calm him.

"Darken got the drop on all of us Peter. He manipulated you into think your father was dead and he used you to get to all of us. All because you're special to us." Peter shook his head looking away from Bruce again but the doctor stared at the teen.

"That's not the point," Peter breathed bring his knees to his chest. Bruce was silent for a moment and Peter thought he had finally succeeded in pushing away someone who was only trying to help. But if Bruce didn't understand no one was going to and that made his insides twist into painful knots.

"I think that's exactly the point," Bruce said. Pointing at the window he continued, "See your uncle over there. Thirteen months. It took us thirteen months for us to get that man to see that he was worth something. That he wasn't just a weapon in someone's belt to be used. Back when I first met your dads someone did just that and it got a lot of men killed. He still lives with that guilt."

Peter peered over the edge seeing the glimpse of the living room. Clint was sitting in the dark staring out to the skyline deeply, a blanket curled around him.

"He was the only one that could put you to sleep when you were sick. You would wait up for him and more often than not you gave your dads a couple of heart attacks and gray hairs by sneaking into his room and waiting for him in his nest until he came home from a mission.

"Her? She used to say love is for children and the only reason she watched out for Clint was because he doesn't do a great job at it himself. Then she acted like she was expendable because she didn't want anyone else to have to do it."

Tasha came behind Clint plucking the hidden arrow from within his hands running a soothing hand through his hair.

"It wasn't until you came along that she actually felt like there was a reason to place her affections. She was so terrified that she'd hurt you until Tony made her hold you."

Bruce furrowed his brow, bringing a leg to his chest before he pointed up at the sky. He didn't actually know where Asgard was but when Peter had been little he always used to point to the moon and say goodnight to Uncle Thor. Peter looked up, his face illuminated by the moonlight.

"From what I've heard Thor used to be a real asshole." Only Bruce would have been able to get away with saying something like that and Peter couldn't help the snort in amusement. "Now when I met him he was already troubled about his brother hating him but he is probably one of the happiest men I know…Or god whatever! I have never seen someone so excited to discover new things before and feel the need to share it with the world. But he still has that lingering voice in his head that tells him the one person he wants to share it with he can't. Then one day you asked him if he knew who the Doctor was and suddenly you two were out looking for his blue police box. He had someone to share those new and exciting things with."

Peter fidgeted with his sleeves. He didn't know how Bruce did it. Even when he wanted to be furious at the doctor, his voice and words always mellowed Peter out until he felt the tension leave his shoulders. The large knot in his stomach was unwinding. He could see where this was going but he leeched onto every word he said keeping his eye fixated on his shoes.

"Your dad was never good at letting people in because his father never let him in. He made him afraid of the dark that comes from opening up to people. He masked it by buying stuff and building stuff. And your Pops." Bruce shook his head. "He was too afraid of the world he had been thrown into. He missed his old life and the way things were. You can imagine what would have happened if you put both of them in a room together. There are still dents from where they threw each other around."

Peter couldn't help the small laugh that escaped his lips. Bruce smiled with his own chuckle rubbing a knuckle against the stubble on his chin. "I still don't understand how they make it work but it just does. Then they got you."

Bruce braced his arms on his knees, looking out at the skyline again and twirling his glasses in between his fingers. "I'm not going to pretend like I know what you're going through Peter, I never will. But you need to know something about us. We're all damaged. All of us. And that's how we work so well together. We all have common goals though slightly different values. But don't ever think that you're not special because you are. You're the most special thing that any of us has ever had and that's because we know you will become the person that none of us could ever be."

Bruce stood, his knees cracking as he went. He let a frown appear on his face questioning if he had gotten through at all to his troubled nephew.

"Rock candy." It was so quiet that he almost didn't hear it. He turned but Peter was still staring down at his shoes. He rocked forward for a moment before turning his deep brown eyes up to Bruce. A small smile appeared on Peter's face and he shrugged. "You taught me how to make rock candy when dads had to leave on the mission together for the first time."

Peter stretched forward and walked past Bruce down the steps to the door that led to Steve and Tony's floor. Bruce smiled tilting his head to the side before returning to the darkness of his lab. Maybe rock candy was all that was needed to return to what was a plausible sense of normalcy.


End file.
